The Place where Soldiers Go
by now you see me
Summary: At his death, Francis Bonnefoy leaves his granddaughter Michelle a box of old papers in his will. As she looks through them and slowly pieces the heartbreaking story together, on question still remains: What exactly happened to Squad 287? Formerly called All That's Left
1. Chapter 1

When someone you love dies, the last thing you're thinking about is their will. You're much too busy grieving and crying and wishing to think about something like that. Michelle certainly hadn't. Not when her beloved Grandpa Francis had just passed on.

He had been the kind of grandpa every little girl dreamed of. He doted on her and showered her with affection; spend hours on rainy days teaching her his native French. He had only one daughter- her mother-, and Michelle herself was an only child, so whenever he came over, she always had his undivided attention. She absolutely adored him.

His death was unexpected and sudden. One day he had gone to sleep and simply didn't wake up.

Her mother rubbed her back as she cried, muttering over and over "He was just tired, baby. He's been tired for a very, very long time. And now he can rest, isn't that nice?"

She hadn't stopped crying. "But he never seemed tired."

Her mom smiled sadly. "Anyone who's ever been in a war is tired, love. No matter how well they hide it."

And indeed, her Grandpa had been a solider for a time, serving in the war. He walked with a cane due to an old injury. At the funeral, he had a flag draped over his coffin and people in while gloves carry it to the grave. Her mother had laughed quietly. "He'd hate that." She murmured. "He hated the army, and he'd hate that."

Three days after the funeral, she had sat on her bed with her head phones on, listening to French pop lullabies and thinking that maybe she was feeling the tiniest bit better, when he father entered the room.

"Chelle," he said softly. "Chelle, we just got back."

She glanced up. "Yeah? And?"

"…He left you something."

She sat bolt upright. "What?"

And that's how Michelle ended up thinking about a will after her grandfather's death.

He had left her a box. All his money went to her parent's savings and her collage fund, but he left specific instructions to leave her that box, _so that she may know the truth_.

On the top was written- Special Ops- Squad 287. She sat cross legged on the floor of her room and opened it with bated breath, wondering what on earth it could be. She looked inside.

Papers.

The box was full of papers, pictures, tapes, and notes.

Her brow furrowed, and she picked one up from the top.

_Name- Francis Bonnefoy _

_Age- 25_

_Date of Birth- March 12_

_Home Address- 14 DeCourt Lane, East Welldam Grove, New York _

_Nationality- French, immigrated to America at age 15_

_Current Job- Sales assistant- Millington's Fine Hats_

_Living Family- Mother, Odette Bonnefoy. Father, Louie Bonnefoy._

_Other Skills- Speaks fluent French_

She blinked. This was a draft paper. Her grandfather's draft papers, from the last war. Now curious, she shifted more papers.

There was an old snap shot of two blond, bespectacled young men, obviously brothers, dressed in soldier's garb. Their arms were thrown around each other, and both grinned at the camera. The shorter, longer haired one was mock saluting, while his taller companion flashed the old 'V for Victory' sign. Michelle flipped it over. '_Mattie and me (Al) about to leave to be deployed_," had been scrawled in an untidy hand. She didn't recognize either of them, by faces or names, and she placed it to the side.

The next picture appeared to be a homemade post card. It showed a dark haired, sun kissed man posed in front of a torpedo, smiling widely. '_You'll always be my bombshell'_ was written on the front in blue marker. Printed on the back was: _'…__But this will have to do until I can get you back. Miss you lots, the food here's terrible. I love you, Toni.'_ Michelle inwardly cooed. That was one of the most adorably sweet, completely dorky things she had ever seen.

The second picture was posed. 12 men sat in two rows of 6, dressed in military uniforms. 'Mattie' and 'Al' from the first photo were there, as was 'Toni' from the second. As was her grandfather, she saw with a sad smile. A small Asian man who sat in the front row held a sign on his lap- _Sp. Ops, Squad 287_.

She found an incredibly old post-it note with the words: _4 next meeting- Must bring up safety, buddy system. Split into 2 groups? Trust building? Recharge walky-talky. **Meet with nurse about MW's meds**_

It made no sense to her, so she moved on. What she saw next, however, made her start. Because staring up at her from the paper were her grandfather's baby blues, sparkling in a way she had never seen them do in life. He was much younger of course, but he was smiling, lifting a glass of something as if toasting the camera with two other men. One was the man from the bombshell picture, Toni, while the other was in the squad picture and had slivery-white hair with shocking red eyes. On the back, in unfamiliar handwriting was the statement- _'The three biggest drunks on base!' _Michelle half smiled at that. Then, suddenly realizing something, she picked the squad picture back up and flipped it over.

_Back row- Ivan Braginsky, Berwald Oxenstierna, Ludwig Beilschmidt, Alfred Williams-Jones, Matthew Jones-Williams, Francis Bonnefoy._

_Front row (seated)- Arthur Kirkland, Yao Wang, Kiku Honda (holding sign), Gilbert Beilschmidt, Antonio Carriedo, Toris Laurinaitis_

She quickly identified the third man with her grandfather to be Gilbert Beilchmidt, and 'Toni' to be Antonio Carriedo.

Next she found a paper folded into fourths. She opened it.

_**Missing**__-A leather bound book with no value to anyone but the owner. If you have any information, tell me. If you have it, please return it, no questions asked._

_-Arthur K_

_That's a little vague, Arthur. Perhaps if you gave us more information, we could find it faster._

_-Ludwig B_

_Ludwig-_

_That's because it's a diary. Our little Brit doesn't want anyone to know he keeps one. ;D_

_-Francis_

_**AWWW! Artie has a diary!**_

_**-A.F.J**_

_Al, be nice._

_-Your brother_

_All you gits-_

_IT'S A FIELD JOURNAL! I'm recording everything that happens to us! _

_-Arthur K_

…_**Isn't that what a diary is?**_

_**-Toni~ **_

_Antonio, Alfred, and Francis-_

_We __have __been told to record everything that happens. That's why they gave us the cameras. So Arthur is following orders better than any of the rest of us. _

_-Honda_

_Uhh, guys?_

_Why are you writing back and forth when you can just talk to each other?_

_-Toris_

_**It's kiend of fun to right back and forth. I can pratice my English!**_

_**-Ivan**_

_Ivan-_

_It's "Kind" and "Practice." The correct form of "right" is "write." You wrote Right, like right or left. Close, though. You're improving._

_-Yao_

_Arthur-_

_It's on the table near the mess hall. Someone put a magazine over it. _

_For the record, I think you all are idiots._

_-Berwald_

Michelle nearly laughed aloud. She could just see this, posed in a hallway of some sort, and people squibbing on it as they went by. They sounded like boys in her school, all of them teasing each other in that strange way boys do. She would like to meet them, she thought. In fact, maybe she would…They probably didn't know Grandpa had died…She shook that thought from her mind before she could make herself upset again.

Underneath that was a manila folder, strangely formal in the otherwise random mish-mash. Ignoring the ominous feeling it caused in her gut, she slowly removed it and flipped it open.

_Final report- Special operations Squad 287_

_Toris Laurinaitis- Deceased. Gunshot to the skull_

_Berwald Oxenstierna- MIA. Thought to be deceased. _

_Yao Wang__-__Deceased. Burn wounds indicate a bomb or hand grenade. _

_Ivan Braginsky- Deceased. Suicide. _

_Kiku Honda- MIA. Body not found. _

_Francis Bonnefoy__-__ Survivor. Extensive damage to right leg and foot. _

_Alfred Williams-Jones- Deceased. Starvation, exhaustion, blood loss. _

_Ludwig Beilschmidt__-__ Deceased. Gunshot to the chest._

_Matthew Jones-Williams- Deceased. Fever, exhaustion, starvation. _

_Antonio Carriedo- Deceased. Blood loss._

_Arthur Kirkland- Survivor. Paralyzed from the waist down. _

_Gilbert Beilschmidt-Deceased. Trauma to the head and spinal cord._

That was it. The rest of the report was missing.

Michelle continued to stare at the page. She read it twice, then a third time, trying to understand what she was seeing.

Deceased. Deceased. Deceased. Deceased. How was that possible?

All of them dead or missing but her grandpa and this Kirkland man. All of them gone but two. _How?_ She picked up the squad picture, now holding in as if it were a precious treasure. Eyes scanned every young face on the page, taking them in. And the fact that all but two were dead.

'…_What happened to you?'_ She asked the photograph.

There was no answer. Then her eyes fell on the box, still filled with paper. After a moment, she pulled it closer to her.

'_Maybe…Maybe this can tell me..__.'_

b..d..b..d..b..d

Er…Hey there! Thank you for clicking on this story, it's made me very happy!

So this is a random idea I couldn't get out of my head for the life of me. I thought it turned out okay…

Michelle is Seychelles, if you hadn't figured in out. I've seen her called Michelle, Victoria, Angelique…I decided on Michelle because it's the easiest to spell…Heh *Holds up a sign that says 'I'm dyslexic and lazy!'*

This takes place in the future. So the war Squad 287 fought in hasn't happened yet, it started about 10 years from now.

Is it worth continuing?

Review, please!


	2. Chapter 2

With shaking fingers, Michelle picked up another picture. This one was very un-posed, obviously taken when neither man knew it.

The two were seated at a table, poring over a book. The first, a slight man of oriental descent, was winding a finger around his ponytail in a way that should have been feminine but wasn't. His lips were slightly parted, as if he was speaking, and he was pointing to something on the paper in front of him. The other was a large, hulking man whose childish expression seemed at odds with the rest of his body. His face was twisted in concentration, and a pencil eraser was held between his teeth as he too stared at the book. On the flipside was written _Ivan's English lessons_.

She didn't know whether to smile at the image or cry because they were gone. Her hand paused as it reached for an envelope. Then she shook her head to clear it and plucked it up. It was a letter, dated about 2 years after the war ended.

_Francis,_

_I do hope you are holding up alright. Or, at least, better then you were. I'd like to say I'm fine, but I'm not. I most definitely am not fine, and most likely never will be again. It's just…God damn it frog, I'm tired. I'm so exhausted, you wouldn't believe. Or maybe you would, how should I know how you feel? To be completely honest, it's my dearest wish to find a dark corner, curl up into a ball and sleep for the rest of eternity. I won't, of course. I'm too much of a cowered for that. But I am going to do all I bloody can to forget. So for once in my pitiful existence, I'm going to be selfish. Because maybe if we had been selfish back there, all the rest of them would still be alive. I'm sending everything to you. The pictures, the reports, the pages from my or one of the other's journals, the tapes and letters. I'm getting all of them as far away from me as possible, because I can't bring myself to throw them away. So now they're yours, you should be getting them any day. Do whatever the hell you want with them. _

_I never want to hear from you again. Do not call me, do not e-mail me, do not find my house, do not even answer this letter. I never want to think about what happened over there ever again. And that means not thinking about you, either. Yes, I am well aware I'm being a cowered in all senses of the word. I couldn't care less. All of them were brave up to the very end. Look where it got them._

_Goodbye forever,_

_Arthur Kirkland_

_PS- I thought you might want to know something I discovered in my research. Alfred and Matthew were orphans. When they said they only ever had each other, they were being quite serious- Their parents died when they were children. Their last names were an attempt to get at least one of them adopted. One that didn't work. I paid for memorials for the both of them, and for someone to keep them clean. I couldn't stand the thought of them fading away as if they were never there because there was no one to miss them._

Michelle stared. Everything else had made her sad. The note passing even made her smile. But this…This made her _mad_. How _dare_ he? How dare this man dump a burden like this one on her grandfather? And why? Because he was _scared_. If she ever met this man, she'd…She'd…

Michelle sighed. She'd probably give him a hug. This letter was one of the most hopeless things she had ever read. What could reduce someone to that? To just throwing away the past and forcing himself to forget, cutting all ties to the only other person who might understand what he had seen…

What had happened to them?

She dropped the letter in slight disgust and moved on, picking up something at random. It was, she saw, a journal entry, but the top half had been badly water damaged so that the words were illegible. Halfway down the page, it became readable once more.

…_They say what we'__re really here for, on top of fighting, is to record things. They're sending us to the worst places in the war so we can record everything that's going on there. That's why they gave us the cameras. Because, apparently, after the Second World War a lot of people tried to deny the things that happened. They weren't able to, though, because of the photographic evidence soldiers like us took. They hope to recreate that success with us. And it's odd…All of us seem to be getting on just fine. _

_I mean, we have our problems. God, do we have our problems. The Frog is the biggest pervert I've ever had the misfortune meet, the elder Beilschmid never shuts up, I'm sure the younger is emotionally stunted in some way, I swear Alfred's in a constant sugar high, I think Antonio is just high in general, Ivan can be terrifying and there are times when I wonder if I'm the only sane one here, except for maybe Toris__…But we work. Somehow, we work.__ The craziness balances out, and we're left with one pretty amazing team. _

_I don't want to jinx it…But I think we might just stand a chance. _

_Arthur Kirkland_

She bit her lip. _Oh, Arthur…But you didn't, did you? None of you stood a chance…_

She let the entry flutter down to land on top of the letter. Both written by the same man, in very different times in his life. The Before and the After.

She picked up the next picture. It was enough to make her lips quirk into a small smile.

Two of the soldiers, one of the blond twins and the brown haired Toris, were kneeling down next to a little girl. The girl's dirty hair was pulled into uneven pigtails, and she was giving happy, gap-tooth grin at the camera. In her arms was a very unhappy, rather overweight cat. To her right, the twin was beaming, a hand barely touching her shoulder. To her left, Toris smiled softly, his hair slightly mussed and frizzed. One the back: _Our first successful mission! Alfred and Toris rescue little Rose's cat from a roof. After this, she proclaimed them her and Mr. Blue's (the cat) heroes. _

Almost without thought, she ran her fingers over the image of their faces. Heroes.

Gunshot to the skull.

Starvation, exhaustion, blood loss.

…Weren't heroes supposed to live? And come home to their love interest and some big parade? Were they still heroes if they didn't come home?

Her eyes found the little girls face one more. _I guess, to her, they were._

She reached into the box and pulled something else out. It was a CD, and the cover had been decorated to look like a wrapped present. With a slight frown, she went to dig out her old player and hit play.

A pause, then…

"_Yi, erh, san_!" a voice shouted out, then several move joined in and they burst into song.

"_Happy birthday to you!_

_Happy birthday to you!_

_Happy birthday dear Yao-Yao,_

_Happy birthday to you!"_

They broke off into fits of giggles before one, a girl, spoke again.

"_Happy bir__thday, big brother!"_

"_We know__ we could have just sent a card…"_

"_But anyone can send a card!"_

"_And you always say how much you miss our voices in your letters…"_

"_So we sent our voices to you!"_

"_It was Young Soo's idea! Yeah, we couldn't believe it either…He had a good one for once!"_

"_Hey!"_

"_We all really miss you. Get back ASAP, okay?" _

"_So…Do you think yo__u'll be home for next birthday?"_

"_Course he will, stupid. He's Yao! He can do anyth_-"

Michelle hit the 'stop' button with more force than necessary.

She didn't want to hear anymore.

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Oh my God. *stares at the review number* Eleven…Eleven, for my first chapter…Holy. Crap. That's more than I ever hoped for! I wanted 3, maybe, 4 if I was lucky. But ELEVEN…

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!

I hope this chapter was alright. Don't be shy to tell me if it's not. Or to point out any stupid spelling errors…And I'm sorry it's so short! This is most likely going to be the average chapter length…

So here, we have England being…Er…A PTSD victim, I guess. And then we have a slightly ironic journal entry, a cute little break from the sadness, and a small cameo appearance from the other Asian nations.

yi, erh, san is Chinese for 1, 2, 3. I think. Correct me if I'm wrong.

Oh, and if there's anyone you want to see appear sometime in the story, tell me. I'll see what I can do. :)

Review, please!


	3. Chapter 3

"_Arthur! Arthur, wake up! Come one cher, open those pretty eyes!"_

_"F...Francis..."_

_"Oui. O-Oui it's me, Arthur."_

_"F-Francis...I can't feel my legs..."  
_b..d..b..d..b..d

Michelle looked in the bathroom mirror, then sighed and splashed some water on her face. She needed a breather before she continued on. Slowly, she walked back to her room and looked at the box for a moment. She sat down and reached in again.

Several post-it notes with things jotted down on them –

_L.B,_

_Have you found that flashlight?_

_-K.H_

Things like that, that made her feel like she was intruding on someone's private life.

Another journal entry, this one written in the untidy scrawl that had labeled the first photograph of the Williams-Jones/Jones-Williams boys. It took her a few minutes to decipher.

_When I was a kid, I had this thing about ghosts. Everything else I was fine with- Give me werewolves, zombies and vampires any day- but ghosts...Ghosts creep me the hell out, and still do. Probably because I had these dreams about Mom and Dad...Whatever. And now here I am, fighting real monsters, and I should be terrified that I'm going to get shot of something stupid like that, but I'm not. I just can't regret enlisting. It's amazing...For the first time in forever, it's not just me and Mattie. Now it's Mattie and me and Kiku and Toris and Antonio and Arthur and Gilbert and Ivan and all the rest of them. It's kinda like we've got a family again._

_Artie's like the dad, I guess, or that older brother who looks out for everyone. And there's not really a mom, because we're all guys, but...It's great. Now I have 11 brothers, instead of just one. And no matter how many times I shoot or get shot at or have to eat the crap food, I'll never once regret signing 'Alfred F W. Jones' on that piece of paper. Even if I need to face a real ghost, or if I never get to be the hero I always wanted to be. It'll all be worth it, because Matt's smiling again and we're both...Happy, I guess. Heh, can you believe it? Happy in a war zone_

_But it gave us our family back._

_-Alfred_

'A family in a war zone, huh?' She wondered…Would he have written that if he had known both his and his brother would die? She placed it in the pile, face down, just like the others. The she picked up a DVD. She wasn't really sure if she wanted to see it, honestly. What could be on a video? But morbid curiosity got the best of her, and she inserted in into her laptop.

The camera shook, and there was muffled laughter. Then it flipped around, revealing the second twin, Matthew.

"_Hey, everyone! We've actually got some down time, believe it o__r not, so I figured I'd test the camera feature out on this thing!"_

He smiled brightly, then turned it back the normal way, beginning to walk. You could see a camp that was set up, along with bits and pieces of the countryside.

"_Well there's the dining te__nt, and there's where we sleep. That's where we keep weapons and supplies, and that…Eh? That's a__…__duck."_

He continued to walk, sweeping the camera this way and that, sometimes getting half a finger in the shot as he pointed.

"_And… Oh! This is Berwald!" _

The camera was trained on a severe-looking blond man with icy blue eyes who was leaning over a clip board.

"_Say hi, Berwald!"_

The man glanced up.

"…_Hello." _He grunted.

"_So…What're you working on?"_

"…_Letter."_

"_Oh? To who?"_

"_Ohh~ Does our stoic blond have a nice_ fille_ waiting for him at home?"_

Matthew turned, reviling someone behind him. There stood her grandfather.

"_This is Francis."_ Matthew added helpfully. Meanwhile, Berwald had simply blinked.

"_No."_

"_Then who are you writing to?"_

"…_My family."_

Suddenly was a jolt as something collided with the camera.

"_Matt! Mattie, save me!"_

"_G-Gilbert? What are you-"_

"_He's going to eat me!"_

"…_What?"_

"_GILBERT! I do not find this amusing!"_

Matthew spun around, reviling the small Asian man, Kiku Honda if Michelle remembered correctly, except…Oh no…

"_You dyed his hair?"_ Matthew shrieked, while Francis started laughing in the background.

"_I didn't mean to! I was going for Francy-Pants over there!"_

"_You were going to dye my hair red?"_

"_It's really pink, it's just not meant for dark hair…"_

A pause.

"_Hey, Kiku, he's over here!"_

"_What? You betray me!"_

"_You deserve this." _

There was sounds of yelling off-screen, and Matthew turned the camera back on himself.

"_So, yeah, just a normal day here." He rolled his eyes. "Or as normal as you can get with these idiots_." Then he laughed fondly, and the tape ended.

Michelle wondered if she should feel guilty because she wanted to laugh. They were just…Normal people. Guys who goofed off and pranked their friends and had those pranks go horribly wrong. They were…Human. Even though they were dead.

She bit her lip. She was getting attached to them. They were dead, and she was getting attached to them. Hastily, she plucked up something else. A journal entry again, this one written in the type-writer neat handwriting that had labeled many of the pictures.

_I'm not good with words .I have never been good with words. I'm a man of action: I like doing things, getting my hands dirty. That's what I'm good at. But if I don't get this off my chest I am going to lose my mind. _

_Today, we came across a small village that had been almost completely leveled by the opposing army. We split up to take pictures, as we always do in that kind of situation. I went with my brother, as usual, but we decided to separate and cover more ground. Then I saw it: What appeared to be a child. _

_It was a very young child, no older than seven. And, Lord forgive me, the little thing was so covered in dirt and blood and goodness knows what else that I couldn't tell the gender. For simplicity's sake, It was a little girl. I saw her was became concerned, thinking I had found a survivor. I got closer, then immediately wished I hadn't. _

_She was holding on to another body, a little blond her own age. His head was in her lap, and his eyes were closed, but I could just tell…He was dead. Horrified, I went to her. She heard me coming and looked up. And her eyes…Gott, her eyes. They were big and empty and_ haunted_.__ So haunted, in fact, that they will haunt _me_ until my last breath. And she looked at me with those empty eyes and spoke._

"_Shhh…" she said. "You'll wake him." She stroked the boy's blood-matted hair. "He's very tired, see? And when he feels better, he'll get up." She smiled. "Then we can have all the sweets we want…Just like I promised…" Then she placed her head against the half-wall she was leaning on, closed her eyes, and went very, very still._

_I don't know what came over me then. I pride myself on my level head, but I just…Panicked__.__ I ran away from there as fast as I could. _

_I don't understand. I know that terrible things happen in war. People die. I'm sure, at this point, I've killed several myself. I've read about the Holocaust, death marches, atomic bombings, all sorts of atrocities committed by men to other men. I understand, though I don't always like it, that it is sometimes it is necessary to take a human life. But these…They were children. Very young children. How did killing them help win a war? It didn't. It was just that: Senseless killing. _

_And now I'm having nightmares about those eyes, and she keeps saying over and over again 'Did you kill me, Ludwig? Did you?' and I try to say no I didn't but the words won't come out. _

_And now I'm crying, and I don't know why. Because I didn't even know her name._

_-L. Beilschmidt_

Michelle blinked, then touched her eyes in shock.

She was crying, too.

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So…Here's chapter 3. I hope you all enjoyed it.

Review, please? 


	4. Chapter 4

"_Look, Grandpa! Look what I dre__w!" Little Michelle held up a drawing of a flower up proudly._

_Francis smiled. "That's lovely, Cheri." _

"_What're you drawing?" She looked over at his paper. On it was a sketch of twelve men sitting around a dinner table._

"…_Just a dream, my sweet." He rubbed his eyes. "Nothing but a dream."_

b..d..b..d..b..d

This picture was different from the others. And it was much older. The rest had had that old paper feel, but this was actually curling and yellowing at the edges. And, at first glance, it didn't have any of the solders in it.

It was taken in typical school picture style, two rows with the taller in the back and the shorter in the front. There were roughly nine kids, the youngest around eight and the oldest about sixteen. And sitting at end of the first row was Matthew and Alfred, age twelve. She blinked, confused, and slowly turned it over.

_Tina Milligan's foster children: Meg L, Sam W, Luke C, Dean W, Jessica P, Charlie F, Allison Q, Alfred WJ and Matthew JW__._

'A foster home…?' Michelle mused. She looked back at the front. None of them looked any different from normal kids…Then she mentally snorted. They _were _normal kids. Just because they were in a foster home didn't change the fact that they were just _kids_.

In the picture, the twins sat so close their legs touched and, if you looked very closely, one could see that they had their pinky fingers locked as if in some childish promise. Both were smiling in the way people do in pictures, the kind of smile that looks strange and glued in place. What was it that Grandpa had always said?

_Once you make the decision to smile, it stops being real._

Michelle scanned the other faces. All of them were also kinda-sorta smiling. None looked happy, but…Well. It was a foster home.

…They were younger than her in that picture.

"'Chelle?" Her door opened, and Michelle nearly jumped out of her skin. Her father stood at the door.

"Michelle?" He said again, blinking at her. She shifted slightly and resisted the urge to hide the picture behind her back, like a guilty child might. Why? She wasn't doing anything wrong.

"Yes, Daddy?" She answered, swallowing hard.

Her father tilted his head "Lunch time, sweetie."

Lunch? Little things like lunch still existed? Life still existed beyond this box? Beyond the stories of these soldiers who were dead now? The thought of food made her sick.

"…I'm not hungry, Dad." She said, looking at her lap. "Can I skip it tonight?"

"Sure, 'Chelle." He gave her a long look, his gaze lingering on the box. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes." _No._

"…Alright, then. Come out if you get hungry." He gave her a small smile, then closed the door. Michelle stared at it for a moment. She reached into the box again. Another journal entry.

_I am terribly homesick. I never thought I had missed home as much as I do. There never seemed much to miss, you know? Small farming town, everyone knew everyone. How the son of Spanish immigrants ended up all the way out here, I'll never know._

_I miss my mother singing while she cooks, and my father complaining about dinner even though he loves it. I miss my cat. I miss my tomato plot and working in it. I miss everything._

_Nothing is the same here. Even the air smells different. Something unthinkable, like killing a man, is common place. Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in blood, and I'm scared that one day I'll look at a dead body and not feel anything. It'll just be…Blank. I don't want to stop feeling. _

_I am also afraid of death. I have seen death here, and it scares me even more now. Because you just seem to stop __being__ at all. You just…Stop. _

_At night, I stare at the ceiling or the stars and I dream of home. I imagine the noises and the smell. I never thought I would miss the cicadas as much as I do. And I know that one day I'll hear them again. I need to get home._

_I have someone waiting for me._

_-Antonio_

It sounded like something out of a movie. He had someone waiting for him. The same person he had sent the postcard to: _You'll always be my bombshell_.

Michelle wondered how Antonio Carriedo felt when he realized he was going to keep them waiting forever. She wondered what the person felt when they realized they would be waiting forever. She placed the paper on top of the post card, noting that she had subconsciously sorted them into piles. She looked back at the box, slightly emptier now, then sighed and reached in at random.

_We lost Berwald today._

She froze. Everything inside her was screaming to put the damn piece of paper down and save herself the grief. She should just burn the whole box and watch all this horrible truth go up in flames, except that her grandpa had left her this, and…Well, if it was his dying wish for her to read it then she would. Michelle took a deep, steadying breath and continued on.

_We lost Berwald today. _

_It was very unexpected…Very sudden. He's been restless the past few days, ever since we went through the last village. Early this morning, he told Toris that he was going for a walk. When he wasn't back in three hours, we grew worried. Yao, Gilbert and I went to look for him._

_We only found his backpack, the straps slightly singed._

_After that, the whole squad searched almost for the rest of the day. We found no trace of him. Now, we think we never will._

_Later this afternoon, we looked through the backpack to see if anything was missing. Only the ration packs were, indicating that some local kids had found it first. Other than that, nothing was out of place. _

_It is odd. I didn't know him very well. He was a quiet man; he kept to himself for the most part. He was…Intimidating, and several inches taller than me. Yet I still feel a sadness because he is gone. _

_In his bag, we found something else__.__ It was a picture of him and four other men, and Berwald was wearing as close to a smile as I've ever seen him with. On the top of it was a sticker that one uses for scrapbooking with the word 'Perhe__'__. I asked Arthur, because he's good at such things, and he told me that it is the Finnish word for family. Why it was in Finnish, when Berwald himself told us on several occasions that he is Swedish, I have no idea._

_We are all morning tonight, because we have lost a comrade and a brother in arms. I try not to think about what the people in the picture will think when they find out. I do not know how the others see it, but I know that, for me, this war has suddenly become real._

_-Honda_

Michelle felt like a horrible person right after, but some wicked little voice in her head had sneered _one down, eleven to go._

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And that's chapter four. We're about halfway done…I think…

I AM CHANGING THE TITLE! No longer 'All that's left,' but 'The Place where Soldiers Go.' I liked it better.

I liked the way Spain's journal came out. Another mention of his 'bombshell'…This isn't a romance story, so that isn't going to be a major subplot, but can you guess who it is?

I hated Kiku's entry, though. I didn't know how to make it better…Blah.

Berwald is the first to go. Sorry, Nordics.

Yes, last chapter the little 'girl' and boy from Germany's journal were HRE and Chibitalia.

Until next time, then…Review?


	5. Chapter 5

_It was as normal a morning as this family ever had. _

_Two men were having a passive-aggressive argument over the breakfast table, while another seemed very busy making what appeared to be toast. The room was filled with eating noises and a quiet sort of familiar warmth, as if this was a normal routine that happened often. Another man entered._

_"Mail's here!" He grinned, tossing a few envelops on the island then going to sit with the other two. They had just started talking about something unimportant, when a loud crash stopped them. _

_The jam jar had slipped out of the standing man's grip, shattering. He was holding a heavy, formal-looking letter in one hand, and the other was trembling and covering his gaping mouth. His eyes were wide and staring blankly._

_"Hey…Tino, what's-"_

_"He's gone." The man breathed. "He's…He's gone."_

_The warmth left that house for a long, long time._

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Some of the papers really were just, Michelle hated to say it, junk. Strange notes-to-self's written in some sort of shorthand she didn't understand (Impor: ICNT due. Can't/can, temp***), very bad pictures that were over-exposed or just showed the side of a thumb or a half of a head, journal pages so water damaged they were unreadable, a hastily-drawn map of some village.

Then she found a letter.

_Dear Liz and Roddy,_

_How ya been? Before you ask, yes Roderich, I misspelled that just to mess with your head. Ha._

_I've been awesome, as always. The food here's complete crap; I don't know how the prince there survived it. The guys on my squad are pretty cool, though. Two of them, Francis and Antonio, are nearly as awesome as me. I know, hard to believe, right? Then Arthur has the personality of a cranky old man, and Yao acts like a little kid even though he's the oldest, and the twins- Al and Matt- are good guys. Ludwig still has that sick up his ass though. But that's just him, I guess._

_Hey, Lizzy? Could you do me a favor and not read for a sec? I just want to tell the Priss something. Thanks._

_Alright, Roderich. I'm going to say this, and I'm only going to say it once. You were right._

_Did you get that? You. Were. Right. _

_I thought you were just being YOU and all prissy and stuff when you said all that stuff about what was going on over here. This is me eating my words._

_It's not even just the other side…Our army and our allies are burning down just as many innocent civilian towns then the enemy! I don't get it, aren't we the good guys? And the enemy is ruthless: they mutilate bodies, Roderich! I've only heard of what they do to POWs, but even hearing it…God. Just be glad you got out of here when you did. Not that I'm happy about your hands! (Come to think of it, how ARE your hands? Can you play?)_

_And Ludwig's been weird since we went through this raided town. He won't tell me exactly what happened, but it has something to do with a kid…He has nightmares about it. _

_So…Yeah, that's all I want to say to you. Don't show it to Liz: I don't want her to worry and stuff. She can start reading again after this line, okay?_

_Hi again, Lizzy! _

_So…Yeah, not the best place I could be I guess. Not my top vacation spot. But everything will be okay, and I'll come home soon and it'll all be awesome! We'll have a party!_

_Love,_

_Gilbert. _

They reminded her of a group of friends a year ahead of her in school- Two girls and a boy. They had been stuck together pretty much since they were born due to their families and were almost never seen without each other. It was painfully obvious that two of them were going to get together, but there were actually running bets as to which two (And since at least one of the girls was Bi, it really could be any combination).

She hoped those three would never be forced into a situation like this one.

Michelle placed the thin paper to the side and picked up another. Her eyes widened.

This was Grandpa Francis's handwriting.

_My dear Jeanne, _

_I will start by saying that imagining your beauty helps me through the long nights here. In a place of such ugliness, the thought of you shines like a beacon of hope. I miss you darling, more so every day._

_Things are so much different here than at home. It is so easy to kill…So easy to sin. We have already lost a friend here, and we don't even know to what. Days pass slowly, nights even slower- I haven't slept properly in weeks. The nightmares follow me even there. I miss home- You, Momma and Father, even dear Geneviève, insufferable dog she is. _

_Yesterday, though, was a bit better than most. Knowing many of us were feeling down due to recent events, Antonio, Alfred and Gilbert put together something to cheer us up. They decided to make a strange show for all of us, though it was mostly them acting out old Saturday Night Live skits and telling bad jokes. Antonio tried a magic trick or two as well…Let's just say that now we all know why he's not in magic professionally. It did make us all feel a little better, though. Those three are good at that. Arthur, of course, griped about it because he says they're never serious, but what can you do? Once a stick-in-the-mud, always a stick-in-the-mud._

_We are heading out for a mission soon. It might be several weeks before I can write again. My heart, as always, is with you. _

_Yours forever,_

_Francis~_

Her hands shook. Grandma had died when Michelle was just a kid, about 7 or so, from a brain tumor. Her memories of the women were fuzzy at best, but one thing she remembered well was her going on about how much of a sweet talker Grandpa had been in his youth.

If all the letters he wrote to her were like this, she could see why.

Before she could make herself more upset then she already was, she let the paper slip from her hands and snatched another one up.

_Something's gone wrong._

_I'm not sure how, but something's gone horribly, horribly wrong. _

_It was just a mission, a routine mission, nothing to worry about. At it seemed like that, at first. _

_Then there was a sound all of us recognized as a bomb, and we turned to see the place base camp used to be with a huge smoke cloud over it. There was a moment of eerie silence, and then everything went completely to hell. _

_They came from all directions: The enemy was everywhere, and no one knew which way was up. One second Toris was next to me, the next second he was on the ground with a bullet through his skull. And there was blood everywhere. God, there was blood everywhere. _

_We all ran for cover in the forest, which is where regrouped...Kind of. The only people here are Yao, Gilbert, Ludwig, Francis and myself. No one has any idea where Alfred, Matthew, Ivan or Kiku are. Francis says he might have seen Antonio go down, but…We just don't know. _

_We have almost no supplies. We have no navigation equipment. The radios are shot. We're trapped in enemy territory. There isn't much hope._

_All we can do now is pray to God someone finds us, and stumble on as best we can._

_-Arthur Kirkland_

Michelle had never felt more helpless in her life.

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Guys, I'm SO sorry this took so long. There's a lot of family stuff I've been needing to deal with, and I've been camping, and…Sorry. Also, FF has been being stupid. Really. Fucking. Stupid.

This chapter's a bit longer. And more existing. Things are going to start getting much, much sadder in the next chapter.

I admit, I love the Frying Pangle way to much not to include it at least once. If you didn't get it, Roderich was in the army but was discharged due to injury.

I hope Francis's letter wasn't too sappy…

Thank you for reading!

Review, please!


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